


Newton’s First Law

by g_oreal



Category: RWBY
Genre: (maybe), Canon Compliant, Gen, Origin Story, Partners in Crime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-04-21 17:03:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22096924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/g_oreal/pseuds/g_oreal
Summary: “Every object will remain at rest or in uniform motion in a straight line unless compelled to change its state by the action of an external force.”In which Torchwick is said object, and Neo is said force.
Relationships: Neopolitan & Roman Torchwick
Kudos: 16





	Newton’s First Law

**Author's Note:**

> Updates will probably be sporadic, and I’m not sure how long this will be. It starts about five years before canon, so it might be a while before it’s finished.

It’s dusk. Another long day of hard work, and Roman is itching to get back to the abandoned shop he calls home. This particular day, he decided to take a shortcut down an alleyway. Not the wisest move, seeing as Wind Path is the criminal capital of Anima, but he’s more than capable of taking care of himself.

The click of his cane and heeled boots on the cobblestone walkway are the only thing he hears besides his faint breathing. As he walks, he comes up on a pile of cardboard boxes. They’re out of the way, but they still bother him. So as he gets closer, he readies his cane. Pulling it back, and then swinging with enough force to send the boxes flying.

But that doesn’t happen. Instead of a dull _ thump _, there’s a sharp crack, like glass. Looking down, he sees a spider web fracture in the air where his cane hit. Pieces of “glass” fall down, slowly revealing the brick wall, and then, the shape of a small kid.

Well, consider his interest piqued. He’s never seen a semblance like this, and it wouldn’t hurt to get some information about it.

“Hey,” he calls out casually before stepping forward. The kid (a girl he can now tell) looks up suddenly, Her eyes are wide, mouth covered by the tall collar of an oversized cream sweater with dirt and miscellaneous stains on it. She curls into herself more, becoming impossibly small. 

Something’s not right about this, Roman can tell. He doesn’t really like kids that much, which is ironic considering he’s still a teenager, but he can’t help but feel drawn to her. He looks up and down the alleyway. No one.

“You okay?” There’s no response except a very subtle shaking of the girl’s body. He steps closer and against his better judgment, he uses his cane to lightly prod her.

Quick as lightning, she kicks out, knocking the cane out of his grip and hitting him in the shin.

“Damnit, you—!” He hisses, pulling back his arm. He glares, hard, and the girl’s eyes widen. Pupils tiny pinpricks of black, irises brown, quickly shifting to white.

That makes him stop. He lowers his hand, staring at her face. It’s completely impassive save for her eyes which are wide with horror. They’re quickly shifting from color to color, pink, brown, green, fuchsia, white. He can now hear her quick, shallow breaths, keeping in time with her changing eyes.

Taking a deep, controlled breath, he steps back. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have reacted like that.” He locks eyes with her. “I don’t know who you are, or what’s going on with you, but I think… I think I’d like to help.” He knew he’d regret saying that, but her eyes slowly come to a stop on both brown and light pink. Heterochromia must be her natural state. That and her two-toned hair seem to be a constant. She uncurls herself, and Roman gets his cane. She looks at him expectantly, so he offers her a hand.

He helps the girl to her feet. At her full height she doesn’t even reach his chest. He grimaces, “Gods, you’re short.”

She gives him an incredulous look, head tilted a fraction to the side. He huffs.

“We’ll get you some heels.”

The girl’s eyes crinkle, and Roman can tell that she’s smiling behind her sweater. He starts walking again, and she follows behind.

“So, what’s your name?”

Nothing.

“C’mon kid, you’re gonna have to work with me,” Roman gripes. Still nothing, so he looks back. He’s greeted by that steely face with wide eyes. He squints. “Can you not talk?” The girl stops walking and looks down.

When she looks back up, she shakes her head “no”.

“Huh.” That may make things difficult. They continue walking.

When they finally make it out of the alley, the sun is low on the horizon, light directly in their eyes. Roman unconsciously offers his gloved hand to the girl, who takes it.

He takes a swift pace, not bothering to use his cane while he walks, instead holding it by the collar. They get a few odd looks, but no one approaches them.

After fifteen minutes, they arrive at Roman’s “home base”. He removes a key from within his coat and starts unlocking the metal rolling shutters and pushing them aside. Then, another two keys for the door. They enter, the girl running past him into the derelict shop. There’s no electricity so he uses candles to light the place, but, by some miracle, the plumbing is still intact so he has fresh running water.

The interior had been partially repurposed. An old couch behind the counter, two mattresses stacked on top of each other in a corner, and a bathroom in the back. He has a cash register next to the mattresses where he keeps his money. And that about sums up the life an earnings of Roman Torchwick. He was meaning to save up for a weapon, or at least some nicer clothes before he attempted the move to Vale. But… he now has an obligation. Taking care of this kid, who he still has no idea what to call.

“Hey kid, did you ever tell me your name?” Almost immediately he remembers. “Oh yeah, you can’t talk. How about we sort that out?” She looks over from where she’s made herself comfortable on the couch. Lighting the candle on the front counter, he holds it by the brass holder, looking for a notepad. He already has a pen in his jacket pocket.

Once he finds it, he calls the girl over. Scampering to his side, she looks at what he’s holding in his hands.

“You _ do _know how to write, yeah?” Another blank look as she snatches the pen and notepad out of his hands. She starts scribbling away, and Roman takes this time to remove his scarf and belt, undoing his jacket clasps. He cracks his neck, rolling it around his shoulders and sighing.

This day really had been a fortunate one. Not only did he scare off some competition, but he got a good couple hundred lien out of it too.

He looks over to his new charge and what she’s writing. Nothing, it seems like. Just some scribbles and lines. Also, what seems to be a rendition of his cane. That makes him smile a bit.

“Name?” Roman says, putting a hand on her shoulder. She tears off the page.

_ im 14 _

_ Older than she looks _, he muses. “Okay, but what’s your name?”

She taps the page. He frowns. “Is your name Fourteen?”

She shakes her head no.

“I need to call you something,” Roman pleads. She taps the pen on the notepad, rolling the pen between her fingers. Then she starts writing.

_ Neopolitan _

“I can’t get you ice cream.”

She huffs and taps the page, underlining the word for good measure.

_ thats my name _

Roman stares at the notepad, then at Neopolitan, then back at the notepad.

“I’m calling you Neo.”

Neo shrugs.


End file.
